


we're painted red to fit right in

by hoars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Lydia Martin, Blood Drinking, Blood Feeding, Blood Magic, F/M, Light Romance, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Over Use of Red Motif, Pack Forged in Fire, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-20
Updated: 2013-02-20
Packaged: 2017-11-29 23:38:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoars/pseuds/hoars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They're here for you, little wolf." Peter says, silky soft. "Ready to devour your soul. Did you think we were afraid of hunters? Oh, no." Peter shakes his head and chuckles a dark sound. "They're human. They die. They all die eventually. A werewolf wants a pack to fend off them. The Primeval and his servants. Only as a pack do we stand strong. Alone? You're easy. What did you think, Scott? We were all desperate to belong? To be family?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're painted red to fit right in

**Author's Note:**

> Title mostly taken from Imagine Dragon's Radioactive. This was an unsuccessful experiment to strictly follow dramatic structure. I am hopeless. Unbeta'ed but if you read quickly the mistakes and story fluidity are barely hiccups. If there's a tag I should put, let me know. I've stared this sucker down and it isn't revealing anymore to me. Fell, Kar and Dragga are references to The Sight by David Clement-Davies.

**Red Grimoire**

The grimoire is red.

It's faded and damaged by spills, and yet like it has never intended to be anything else but the color of sun damaged stripes. Derek can smell the blood on the pages, can smell the cinnamon and cranberries from the cave's mouth. He can't _see_ the grimoire, but he knows it exists because Stiles can. He sees it the way he sees everything he can’t put his eyes on, with his nose.

"A grimoire." Derek says because it is too much to be real.

He thinks of the witches that made it and their power. How it's all confided into paper and leather. He thinks about herbalists and sparks and how Stiles is different from Deaton. Like brothers with the same blood but different favoring parents. Different enough, it seems, to be drawn to a book.

It was Scott to seek Derek out. Desperate and panicking. "Stiles is missing," had been the general gist but Scott had mentioned Stiles' distracted air, his constant glances north, how he moved in that direction unconsciously.

Together, they tracked down Stiles and his jeep.

Scott with head out the window like a mutt, leading them to the redwood national park. Something was off, Derek knew, as he paid the park ranger. Could feel it in his gut and it was confirmed when the ranger doesn't recall Stiles or his blue Jeep.

They went by foot and Scott arguing with Derek about the scent path despite who has been wolf longer. They split up. Derek, as frustrated as Scott made him, was glad they had.

Scott didn't need to find Stiles like this.

Eyes sunken and skin stretched across his cheekbones, lips cracked and bloody, his arms bloody up to his elbows in rabbit. There's a circle of stones cast around him that prevents Derek from getting any closer. The book Derek knows is there but can't see has Stiles' full attention. Derek has never had the patience for magic. He couldn't use it. He hadn't seen the point when he was young to study all the peculiars. But Peter had. Unable to do anything else as all his attempts to claim Stiles' attention fail, he calls Peter.

Peter had thought the subject of magic interesting. Interesting enough to unearth shape shifter lore everyone thought lost. To come back from the dead. With Peter's promise to come quickly, Derek sits at the cave mouth and waits.

He watches Stiles' lips move silently, his eyes rapidly moving left to right to left again as he reads. His eyes turn completely black, not even the white surviving as Derek watches. Derek grinds his teeth. He can't do anything. Not when the teenager's eyes turned black, not when his veins popped blue stark against white skin, not even when Stiles began to cut into the flesh of his left forearm with a knife – did he find it or did he come prepared? -- little symbols that heal as he starts the next one. Leaving faint red marks tattooed.

The blood finally draws Scott.

Derek is unable to give warning before Scott tries breaching the circle to reach Stiles and is violently thrown backwards. "What was that? What's he doing!" Scott's voice garners a slow blink from the enchanted boy before he turned back to the grimoire, turning a page and moving to another spell.

Derek snarls are joined by Scott's when Stiles began slicing a long line, deep to the bone, in the same forearm. His blood spilling quickly onto the book's pages, Derek able to see the spell book's outline briefly before the blood vanished from his senses.

Derek doesn't react when Peter appeared quite suddenly, out of breath, eyes narrowing at the morbid sight, but Scott growls.

"Derek, you're going to have to hold him down. He's going to fight you. Scott, bind his arm. Tightly." Peter takes a bag of sea salt from his bag and the first aid kit Derek asked for.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Scott sneers. "We can't pass the circle."

"I am aware." Peter says tightly.

Peter begins pouring the salt over the circle Stiles created. Like Peter predicted, Stiles becomes violent and his mouth twists into a sneer that belongs more at home on Derek's face. Derek moves quick, trusting Peter, and rushes Stiles.

He's got the boy on the ground, flat on his back, using his limbs to pin Stiles' arms and legs down. His head thrashes. Scott whines, an injured noise that makes the alpha in Derek concerned, and kneels down to wrap the bleeding wound. "Why did he do that?"

"Wait him out." Peter advises, ignoring Scott.

It takes fifteen minutes for Stiles to tire out, his body drained and his veins fading back to simple light blue and green rivers. Scott hurries his friend to the Camaro when Derek lifts himself off the boy. Peter stares at the circle thoughtfully and Derek eyes it with weariness.

“What was it?”

Peter hums thoughtfully, tapping his lips. “Grab the book.” He finally answers and that isn’t really an answer at all.

Derek stares at the cave, the lines in the dirt and the salt, the blood and grimoire before taking off his shirt to pick up the object he knows is dangerous.

They have no choice but to return the red grimoire to Stiles when that night his body revolts like he’s going through drug withdraw, the shakes, vomiting, soreness, all of it. Afraid, Scott called Deaton and Morell. The two immediately came over to Scott’s house, observing the human boy twitch and moan deliriously.

“Give him back the book.” Morrell finally said grimly. “He needs to finish bonding with it.”

“Do you really think that wise?” Deaton asked.

“He heard its call. He’s its heir.” She said. “Whether we or anyone else likes it.”

“How curious.” Peter said. “That this grimoire of blood would make him its heir. Makes one wonder, what is in store for the boy, doesn’t it?”

Derek had watched from next to Stiles and Scott as the wise discussed Stiles, making him sound like a weapon and fighting the urge to laugh because Stiles wasn’t _theirs_ to use.

**Blood Moon**

Derek spends more time on the Stilinski roof than he’s willing to admit, but he can’t stay away.

He can hear the whisper of pages everywhere he goes and he’s crippled with fear of what could be happening. Any moment the grimoire could kill Stiles, could take too much blood without replenishing it. Could decide there was one better suited to it. It turns into a obsessive need to check on Stiles. Make sure he’s still breathing and alive and _sane_.

Isaac keeps an eye out for him during the day, hearing Derek’s and Peter’s accounts of what happened that day. “He smells like us. A little bit.” Isaac says.

“It happens.” Derek says. “Transference.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Peter asks, amusement lurking in his voice. “Watch your brothers, little fell. They’ll need us soon.”

“My brothers?” Isaac says. “Boyd and Erica are gone and Scott—“

“Then they weren’t your brothers.” Peter says indifferently. “Scott, he thinks the choice is still his, but his heart is ours. As is Stiles. My nephew was not careful with his loyalties when he first arrived. Collecting all of you like broken toys.”

“Scott’s in between.” Derek says, ignoring Peter. “For his sake, I hope he chooses to be pack soon.”

“Don’t we all.” Peter says lowly and Derek shares a significant look with him.

He knows and he’s tried hard to make Scott one of his. He knows how dangerous it is, but there’s nothing Derek can do short of killing the teenager. An option he can’t even entertain because of Peter.

“He feels like a son to me.” Peter says idly. “Vendetta between us is satisfied. The death of my son would only renew it.”

“We have to do something. Soon.” Derek says shortly. “Or maybe you should.”

“Derek?” Isaac asks, voice scared and soft. “What’s going on?”

“A father is allowed to discipline his son.” Peter says in return.

Derek remains silent. From what he knew, Scott didn’t have a father. Not one Scott was willing to claim. He didn’t know why. Didn’t particularly care. But Peter would. The alpha bond to his betas was strong. Paternal. It would be ingrained into Peter’s instincts to protect Scott like how it was ingrained into Derek’s to protect Isaac. Many things could be forgiven. The death of a sister. Your own death. But the death of a child? It _demanded_ vendetta.

Derek doesn’t sleep as easily as he used to. Which is less than when the kanima was roaming and hunting the streets. He spends most of his nights on the Stilinski roof, listening to the sounds of Stiles moving around in the house, the crickets and grasshoppers, sounds of doors opening and closing, car doors opening and closing and the neighbors’ conversations. He’s always sure to disappear before dawn before eyes can become sharp and see. It surprises him then, the first time Stiles pops his head out from his window and looks upwards.

“You there? Derek?” Stiles calls. “I need to ask you something. About Scott.”

Derek plays with ignoring the request. Stares up at the stars and the moon. “ _Derek_.” Stiles calls again. Derek has spent weeks on this roof, but tonight Derek climbs through Stiles’ window. Maybe it was fragility, the softness in his voice that finally calls Derek in.

Derek stares at Stiles, waiting for a response. The teenager’s playing with the fraying ends of his hoodie’s sleeves. Face tense and guilty. “There’s something wrong with Scott.”

“What?” Derek asks.

“It’s stupid. But I’ve been friends with Scott for a long time. Years. It’s little things. His temper. It’s gotten bad. Scary bad.” Stiles says. Derek knows he should be paying attention, but he’s distracted by the marks on Stiles’ arm. Left over from the grimoire. Little red marks that Derek wants to trace with his fingers, to understand the meaning of. He hasn’t been this close to the boy in awhile. “He’s acting out. It could be stupid teenage rebellion, but he got really aggressive with coach the other day…Derek?”

It’s a valid concern and exactly what Peter and he were afraid of.

“How often has he lost control?” Derek asks, dragging his eyes up to Stiles’ face. “When has he?”

“A few times a day.” Stiles answers. “Even Allison—He changed once while she was holding his hand. He didn’t mean to but Jackson pissed him off.”

“He does it a lot?” Derek asks.

“Yeah. Derek what’s going on? It sounds like you know.” Stiles demands.

“I do. He should have joined the pack.” Derek shrugs.

Stiles lets out a little scream. “That is absolutely no help. You are zero help.”

Derek shakes his head and leaves. Swings back on to the roof and listens to Stiles mutterings with a smile until Stiles drops into bed.

He gets little messages after that.

_Isaac keeps looking at me._ – S

_Make him stop_. – S

_Creepy Peter is stalking Scott. Very creepy_. – S

_Going to use Book tonight. You in?_ – S

_Dad found Erica and Boyd. Not good. Come over?_ – S

_Allison avoiding us. Says she moving soon. Said to ask you. Know why?_ – S

_Btw. Scott pissed at you_. – S

_Scott expelled for fighting_ – S

_I need Creepy Peter_. – S

_Scott tried eating my face. Magic did something._ – S

_Help. Please_. – S

Derek has never ignored Stiles’ messages. How he got his number is a breach in ethics, Derek is sure. He’s only given it to the Sheriff’s Department when he was arrested. He doesn’t always answer back, but he doesn’t ignore Stiles.

 He encourages Isaac to talk to Scott and Stiles rather than hang back and watch them. He asks Peter what he was doing at the school and tells Stiles its fine when Peter says he was observing Scott. He comes over the night Stiles uses the grimoire with a bag of sea salt, ready to break any circle Stiles sets up and keep him alive. He comes over again, to see the crime scene photos of Erica and Boyd -- mauled in another state. He finds the Argents packing their vehicle with the bare essentials and asks them what they know. “I’m not a fool. My family has survived this long because we know how to avoid what’s coming.” Argent says grimly. “My recommendation? Put him down and run.”

He brings Peter to Scott’s house when Stiles asks for him. Scott is trapped in the middle of a circle of red salt. Designs and sigils like the ones on Stiles’ arm. It’s complex and delicate enough that Derek would be convinced it took hours of careful attention to detail if he didn’t see Stiles right on the edge of the circle, face pale and heart like a humming bird’s. Scott snarls. Mostly wolf now than human. Derek has to resist the urge to force respect from Scott, an urge Scott must be able to sense because he snarls louder and begins to slam against the barrier the red circle has erected.

“A devil’s trap made of salt.” Peter hums thoughtfully. “What made you decide to use salt for the trap?”

“I didn’t.” Stiles says. Derek can hear him swallow nervously. “I panicked and it _happened_. I didn’t decide to do it at all.”

“Interesting.” Peter says to himself. “Derek. Take Stiles and see if you can find gold.”

“Gold? How the hell are we supposed to do that? Rob the nearest jewelry store?” Stiles says. His heart is still too fast like his words and Derek grabs his shoulder to pull him out of the room.

“Gold flecks would be best.” Derek can hear Peter add when they’re half way out the front door over Stiles’ tangents about gold. “Something to spread over some of the salt.”

“I don’t know how I did it.” Stiles says when Derek gets back in the car, holding his prize from the liquor store.

Derek bought a bottle of Goldschlager. The little gold flakes hopefully enough. He didn’t particularly want to buy or steal gold jewelry to shave. He left Stiles in the car. Now quiet, Stiles’ heart beats a natural rhythm. He must have found his courage.

“You didn’t know how when we found you at Del Norte.” Derek says. “You just did.”

“Derek. The grimoire. If it makes me hurt someone--” Stiles says, desperate and smelling like fear.

“I’ll take care of it.” Derek informs the teenager. “Let’s fix your mess.”

When they get back, Peter has calmed Scott down into his human disguise.

“I’m sorry.” Scott says. “I’m so sorry, Stiles.”

“It’s cool.” Stiles lies. “Now, let’s get you out of there.”

“We need to talk to Red and that one boy. The broken one.” Peter says on the way home. “Scott will draw them down on our heads.”

“I know.” Derek says. “I don’t know if your little Red will be amendable to joining with the pack.”

_Because of you._

“Red is vicious. She’ll see the intelligence of joining the pack.” Peter smiles. “Especially if we tell her the truth about what’s coming.”

“And with her, she’ll bring Jackson.” Derek agrees.

Derek feels the day _they_ arrive. The air is heavy and sticky, the sky is orange and Derek can smell the lightening. He stands next to Isaac, shoulder to shoulder as they both watch the sky. Thunder booms, making his bones feel like they’re jumping.

“This isn’t normal, is it?” Isaac asks.

“No.” Derek says.

“What is it?” Isaac asks.

Derek takes a long moment. Lightening streaking the sky, chased by thunder. “Stay close to the pack. Maybe you won’t have to find out.”

It’s futile. Derek should have known it would be. Their legends say when they get the scent, find one of their own, there is no stopping them from coming. Like the legends promise, _they_ leave Derek and his pack alone. Most of them.

_Help_ – S

Derek reads the message once and then twice. He gets up and tosses his jacket next to a nervous Isaac. “Going to bring our errant brother home?” Peter asks.

“Brother?” Jackson says. “Who else did you guys—“

He’s cut off by Lydia – Red – and her elbow. “Stiles and Scott, right? They’re missing. And you’re going to get them.”

Her eyes are far too calculating. Derek doesn’t answer her, instead chooses to begin running and searching for Stiles’ scent. He isn’t too far away that he can’t hear Peter. “He’ll try. I doubt he’ll succeed. But he’ll try.”

He can smell Scott and Stiles, together, concentrated on the lacrosse field. Their scents are clean amongst the cloud of blood and musk that circles them. He can hear snarls, wet and hungry sounds. Eager for human flesh to tear and for a new brother. Derek pushes himself to get their faster. He can hear Scott’s growls and grunts as he impacts his enemies, he can hear Stiles muttering.

He can hear all these things. Smell them.

It doesn’t prepare him for seeing it.

The Ferals are as damned as their legends have painted them. Giant wolves, twisted and grotesque. A mockery of the modern wolf. Derek feels a second to be afraid and then he hits one, pushes it away from Scott and Stiles. There are only three of the Ferals. But three is too many. Derek is surprised Stiles and Scott are still alive.

The Ferals, the werewolves lost to instinct and rage, are large. The size and muscle of a brown bear, but all the sleekness of a wolf. They’re fast. Nearly too fast for Derek’s eyes to comfortably follow. He doesn’t dare turn to look at Stiles’ eyes, but he suspects they’re pitch black. Human eyes wouldn’t be capable of watching the Ferals without blinking rapidly. Their fur is dark and bristled. Like a boar’s. Derek’s hand is sticky with blood from where he pushed the one Feral away, the fur like needles in his hand. Their muzzles full of fangs like paring knives. Thin and sharp.

Derek can’t see their master. He hopes he isn’t close and that they still have time to run. Time enough for Derek to get them to safety. Back to the pack.

“Go! To the house!” He roars at Scott and Stiles.

He attacks the Ferals to cover their retreat. He’s fast. Always has been. A strong wolf wasn’t always the last wolf living. The one who could outrun his enemies? That was the wolf that survived and Derek was nothing if not a survivor. He would beat back the Ferals. He didn’t have an option. He had to beat them back and get back to his pack.

Only together did they have a chance of surviving.

The Ferals break his bones and rip muscle from his frame. Derek keeps deflecting, listening for the sound of Stiles’ Jeep. He doesn’t have a chance of actually winning against the Ferals. Where one falls, another rises. It’s hopeless to try to kill them. But Peter is a historian, the holder of their legends.

“If their master is not with them, they will not pass a place of fire and death.” Peter said. “The old house is the safest place for us to be. The Feral will not come here of their own free will.”

Derek can hear their whines, sees them slowing as the scent of charred wood and death that always lingers hits them. Derek wants to laugh. He is a child of death and fire. They should be as afraid of him as they are of this place. He stops as he hits his territory. The Ferals behind him whining and crying, _why here, why take us to this graveyard_. Isaac helping Scott out of the Jeep, calling for Lydia to please help with the gouges and bite marks the Ferals left on Scott.

“Stiles.” Peter says, cautiously.

And Derek remembers the teenager that helped fend off three Ferals and the power he must have accessed to do so. Derek goes to Peter and Stiles, bloody and aching but an alpha’s duty is never over. He approaches them, kept wary by Peter’s body language. Stiles’ heart is steady. Calm and normal as if he hadn’t been attacked by monsters of legend.

“His eyes are black.” Peter says clinically.

“I’ve seen him like this before.” Derek says. He ignores Peter’s surprise. All the nights of spotting for Stiles actually more useful than for his peace of mind. “I’ll take care of it. Take care of the others.”

Peter hmms and backs away to do as Derek asked. Derek doesn’t doubt Peter will actually look away, too curious. But what he’s about to do has never been a secret.

He pushes down on Stiles shoulders, until the boy’s knees buckle and he hits his knees. Derek keeps pushing at the boy’s limbs. Arranging him so his forehead hits the dirt and his hands are flat by his head. Derek lets go and steps back and like the other times since they’ve discovered how to do this – grounding – he watches the magic go dormant in Stiles again.

Derek knows he has Stiles, just Stiles, again when he can hear his heart speed, dangerously fast like his breath. “Hey.” Derek tries to soothe. “You’re safe. They’re gone.”

Stiles laughs, a broken sound. “Not for long. They’ve left _pack_ here. They’ll be back.”

Derek glances towards the house, where Scott is, and sees Peter doing the same thing. Scott senses their gaze and glares. Derek pats Stiles on the shoulder in his vain attempt to make the grimoire’s heir feel better. It doesn’t work. Stiles closes his eyes and shudders. Terror. He doesn’t smell like fear but terror. Scott starts, surges to his feet despite Red’s hisses and Isaac protests.

“What did you do?” Scott snaps. “Who are they looking for?”

"They're here for you, little wolf." Peter says, silky soft. "Ready to devour your soul. Did you think we were afraid of _hunters_? Oh, no." Peter shakes his head and chuckles a dark sound. "They're human. They die. They all die eventually. A werewolf wants a pack to fend off _them_. The Primeval and his servants. Only as a pack do we stand strong. Alone? You're easy. What did you think, Scott? We were all desperate to belong? To be _family_?"

Derek suppresses the shiver of fear up his spine, but he can't hide the scent of his fear and for the first time, Scott looks wretchedly afraid. Stiles is pale, but Derek can read the human boy and nods. Stiles is one of Derek's. Safe under his protection until Stiles decides to sever that bond. The boy nods back and approaches Scott gently, timidly. Derek’s wolf growls, deep in the recess of their soul.

"Scott, please. Allison isn’t here. She’ll never know." Scott shakes his head slowly. "Scott! Didn't you see them?”

“I can’t.” Scott shakes his head. He sounds horrified and sick. “I _can’t_.”

“What do you mean you can’t? You did it before.” Stiles says, sounding desperate.

“I already have a pack.” Scott cries. “I can feel them. I can feel him. The alpha. The Primeval. Pushing at me, pulling at me. Stiles—“

“Then it’s too late.” Derek says bleakly.

“It can’t be.” Stiles says.

“You can’t say no to the Primeval.” Derek says.

“No.” Peter agrees. “But we can fight for him. If Scott will accept us. Accept _himself_.”

“It’s why they’re here.” Derek explains. “You’re turning into one of them, Scott, because you won’t listen to your wolf _and_ your human."           
  


**Pomegranate**

They expected a price.                            

Fuck, Stiles knew there would be a price and he’d been more than willing to pay it.

Derek doesn’t think anyone was expecting the pain it’d bring Stiles.

Stiles had walked the perimeter of the house, creating a barrier. Derek trailing after to make sure Stiles wasn’t disturbed or attacked while he was vulnerable.

The wards are strong and the Ferals bounce of them every time they try lunging for one of them inside. The Primeval circling them, eyes like hellfire and amused. Derek knows they’re being toyed with because the Primeval knows he only has to wait for either Stiles to break or for supplies to break. Night three is upon them when the wards begin to flicker and their toll on Stiles is realized.

He’s not eating. Not able to keep his food down, yet he cries his stomach aches with it. He’s running out of energy, the red grimoire sapping it all away like a hungry child.

"We need to keep his strength up." Red, the cool and clinical voice of reason says.

"How?" Scott growls, his wolf face no doubt coming out to play. "We've tried everything. He just pukes it back up."

"I don't know." Red says. "But his strength is tied to the wards. Stiles goes down the wards go down and we all die." _Because of you._ She doesn’t say.

Scott snarls and Stiles can't stifle his whimpers at the pain twisting his guts. Derek frowns, but doesn’t move from where he’s watching through the windows.

"A suggestion? If I may?" Peter says from the shadows of the house they'd all take refuge in. "Blood."

"Why blood?" Derek can hear Scott ask, sounding sick.

There's power in blood. Life." Peter answers.

Peter meets his eyes in the reflection of the window and Derek glares, but needs are needs. Stiles is buying them time. Time they need to realign Scott’s loyalties with the pack. They need Stiles to stay strong. Derek nods shortly and Peter smiles.

Derek hisses slightly through clenched teeth. He has Stiles back against his front, the boy gulping loudly as he swallows mouthful after mouthful of blood. The boy was senseless with his hunger, swallowing each drop like mother's milk.

Drops dribbling from his mouth.

Shame smothers the boy's normal spirit. Chokes it and kills it and Derek whines lowly. It doesn't sit right with Derek that this boy, so accepting of the werewolves in his life, is ashamed of his own primal nature. Derek has spent the past few months helping teenagers accept and embrace their own darker natures. He has some practice at this.

"No." Derek tries to soothe. "Shhh, it's fine."

“The wards are strengthening.” Red observes with satisfaction.

“Call for us when Stiles needs to feed again.” Peter tells her after confirming her observation. “We’ll be working on a solution to our little problem.”

Derek squeezes the back of Stiles’ neck and tugs sharply. The boy’s teeth are still buried in his flesh, and it hurts when Stiles doesn’t let go, but Derek remains firm until the boy lets go with a gasp. His mouth is bloody and he’s quick to swallow his last mouthful. “Let me know when you’re hungry again.” Derek says, meeting Stiles’ eyes. He brings Stiles forward to bring their foreheads together. “You’re protecting my pack, Stiles. Thank you.”

He follows Peter upstairs, trusting Stiles to Peter’s Little Red.

Isaac is pressed next to Scott, trying to offer Scott comfort. Jackson is watching Scott with a scowl. When he senses Derek, he complains, “He’s ignoring us.” Peter is crouched in front of Scott, speaking quietly. “Do you want to become one of them Scott? Because if you don’t care, we’ll give you to them now before their master arrives. Do you know who their master is?”

“The first werewolf.” Scott spits angrily. “I was _listening_. The Primeval.”

“But that isn’t _who_ he is.” Peter says. “The Primeval may be the first werewolf, but he is also the spirit every werewolf must struggle with. The reason alphas’ eyes turn red. He’s inside every werewolf but stronger in alphas. He is vengeance. He is death. He is instinct. He’s the darkest part of ourselves we struggle to contain. And you didn’t contain it Scott. You let it rule you. That’s why he’s here. You’re one of his sons calling to him.”

“And how does that help me? Huh?” Scott demands. “All you keep trying to do is scare me. You aren’t fixing it.”

“You were mine first.” Peter smirks. “I bit you. I made you. You are my son. I have first claims.”

Scott is growls, his flashing a dark amber. “My dad—“

“Doesn’t matter.” Derek says flatly. “We’re going to use your connection to Peter to force you into our pack. You’re a cub. You technically don’t get a choice.”

“Then why were you guys always trying to convince me before if I don’t get a choice?” Scott asks.

“The Hales have a tradition of asking.” Peter answers. “It is brutal. To be forced.”

“What do we do?” Isaac asks, fear and determination in his voice in equal measures.

“It’s a fight.” Derek says when Peter doesn’t.

Jackson catches on first. “We’re going to beat the hell out of him, aren’t we?”

Peter smirks. “You’re correct little kar. If he won’t submit to the pack willingly, then we make him.”

There’s a tense second all of their eyes pinned to Scott before Scott twists into action and attacks the closest wolf to him.

_Isaac_.

Derek snarls and grabs Scott and throws him towards Peter and Jackson.  

 

**Apple**

Red calls for Derek not too long after they’ve collapsed together. Scott is beneath Isaac and Jackson on his belly. Isaac nuzzling and leeching Scott’s pain away while Jackson kept prudent claws in the back of Scott’s neck, little pools of blood forming. Peter is sitting cross legged in front of Scott, a heavy hand keeping Scott pinned to the floor. Derek shifts off of Scott’s legs where he’d been keeping Scott immobile, Jackson quickly taking his place before Scott could renew his escape attempts.

“Lydia.” Stiles snaps, sounding shaky and miserable again. “You’re a traitor. A _traitor_.”

“The wards are weakening again.” She says when she sees Derek. “The Ferals are waiting outside of them. I think The Primeval is coming. The moon turned red.”

Derek spares a look for the Ferals and realizes Red knew exactly what she meant when said they were waiting. The Ferals were conserving their energy outside of the wards. Facing the opposite direction expectantly. The sky bathing everything in sin red light.

“Last time.” Derek says. “He’s almost here.”

Derek steps towards Stiles who immediately begins shaking his head. “Please, Derek. No. I can’t.”

“You can.” Derek replies. “And you will.” He stares into amber eyes. Stiles flinches and nods and allows Derek to approach without squirming. “Last time.”

“It’s—“

“It’s survival.” Derek cuts Stiles off. “You need it and I have it.”

Derek searches Stiles for any more objections and finds none. Stiles’ teeth aren’t meant for breaking the skin. They could and did previously, but this time Stiles is more aware of his surroundings. Before Derek had been able to bring Stiles’ mouth to his wrist and Stiles had bitten down hard. This time Stiles tests his teeth and looks doubtful at the wrist that has already healed. Derek shakes his head in gentle amusement and bites his own wrist for Stiles to drink from.

“Quickly. Before it heals.” Stiles hesitates long enough for Derek to wonder if he’ll have to force Stiles when the boy surges forward in sudden decision and latches his mouth to Derek’s bite.

It makes Derek grunt and shift his weight or else topple. Stiles’ cheeks warm in embarrassment briefly before the boy loses himself again. He clutches Derek close, his teeth preventing Derek’s skin from knitting the wound closed. Stiles’ veins are turning black around his eyes and Derek knows if Stiles were to open them, both of his eyes would be entirely black.

Derek pulls Stiles off when he begins to feel lightheaded. The grimoire’s heir makes a gasp on top of a whine and shows Derek his onyx eyes. “Are you ready?” Derek asks.

“Fuck.” Stiles says breathing hard. “Yeah. Very.”

“He’s coming.” Peter warns too late.

Derek can feel the itch in his spirit. The desire to fall to all fours and rage at the moon. The instincts and urges he buries beneath human rational and control begin to resurface. To fight and to fuck. Stiles is still holding on to him tightly still and Derek can feel his focusing shifting. He can smell his blood on Stiles’ breath and it makes him rumble deep in his chest. He laps at the blood smeared around Stiles’ mouth, pulling the magic user closer.

“ _Derek_.” Red says sharply. “Let Stiles go. Neither one of you is in your right mind. If you still want to rut against each other tomorrow morning, go ahead. But he’s high off magic and you’re – high off of something.”

“Red’s right.” Peter says. “Back away from him Derek. Tomorrow. There’s a threat against the pack.”

Fear and anger rise in his chest in equal measures and he gently pushes Stiles away. There’s a threat outside of his home. His pack is here. He needs to protect. He can feel his pack making his anger their own, feel their own instincts meeting his.

“Time to face the beast.” Red says.

Derek can hear his younger pack mates upstairs jumping out of the window. He can hear three sets of feet hitting the ground. He can hear Peter scoff and use the stairs. Blinking, he stares at Red until she huffs and begins to steer Stiles outside. Derek follows them closely, all too aware of their fragile bones and inability to heal.

The Primeval is waiting for them. He snaps at the wards and they collapse. Derek hears Stiles grunt but he keeps his eyes on the threat. There would be time tomorrow.

The Primeval is too much animal and a little bit of man.  

The Primeval towers over them. His pack mates at the ready by his sides. He isn't the monster Derek used to have nightmares about when he was ten. His eyes glow red, bright like candy hearts. They don't beam with the light of hell or pulse like worms painted in blood. The Primeval's body is twisted. He stands like a man but looks like a wolf. He could be the werewolf in the Wolf-man and Derek has a human thought that Stiles would love learning if humans based their movie perceptions of werewolves on the Primeval. His fur is wiry and gray, skin black. The beast breathes heavily, taking in the scent of a pack.

Legend had it a pack together could turn away the Primeval, but the pack had to be strong. Only two packs in myth had done it – Cu Chulainn and his pack and the Knights of Camelot -- and those pack had more than a handful of werewolves young enough to have milk on their breath, two human beings and two cradled by death too often. But they had to try. Two teenage boys once saved his life, and earned his protection. Scott helped Derek fight his enemies more than once. Scott was his little brother and Peter's son. It had to be enough.

The Primeval roars.

The Ferals accompany him with howls that promises of fields and the hunt under a forever dark sky. Derek feels the itch to go with them and hears Peter whine lowly. To be what they were and free forever, it was tempting to any wolf. Particularly Peter and Derek who had been raised with the stories of the never ending hunt as heaven. To see their family again. Their song tugged at his very soul.

But he couldn't. Not yet.

"No." He snarls and he can hear his Red and her mate pulling on Peter and talking him from the ledge. Red's words as vicious as the slap she delivers. Jackson pushing Peter from the Ferals, maintaining distance.

The Primeval roar again and Derek can't hear any heartbeats along his own. Panicked, he looks to either side of him and sees no one. His pack has deserted him when he tries to save them and he can't breathe, feels the whines coming unwanted. Derek has survived once without anyone. He can do it again. But it's a lie. He's never been alone. He's always had someone to fall back on. His family, Laura, Scott and Stiles, Isaac. Derek doesn't ever want to be alone.

And his pack wouldn't leave him. They know he yearns to hear their heartbeats and feel their wolves greet his. They would stand next to him and fight to the death to save the pack he found.

"No." He snarls again and so quickly the thumps sound too loudly to his ears can he hear his pack again. Breathing and alive and here. Good.

He can smell Isaac's tears. He hears Red snapping violent comfort at him while his brothers shake with rage in their places. He can smell Stiles' blood and hear Peter's demands Stiles wait before using his magic, only one more trial.

The Primeval roars again and the Ferals back fade away. The sky clears of the lightning and thunder. Derek watches them go and is wary. The Primeval smiles and it's gruesome. All teeth and salvia and dark amusement. A twitch of his tail is all the warning they have before the Primeval springs at Isaac.

Jackson and Scott intercept the first werewolf to the best of their abilities. It's enough for Isaac to live. The Primeval's attack only surprises Isaac for a few seconds as Jackson and Scott keep the snarling beast at bay. Derek approves when he feels the second Isaac decides to dart for the Primeval's legs. Peter works with Derek and together, they attack his back. The Primeval throws them all back with a mighty roar.

Hitting the dirt heavily, Derek grunts and rushes to his feet to attack the Primeval again. If the Primeval goes on the attack, they're all dead. They've only lived so long because they have him on the defense.

But it's too late.

Scott is doubling over, howling and panting. Sprouting wiry fur as he screams and howls to the sky. Derek can see his eyes flicker red and amber and sees Peter's anguish. Derek can still feel Scott, tentative bond desperately reaching for Derek before it's buried under rage and the urge to kill his old pack to prove to his new alpha is loyalty. Derek can feel it inside, tugging at his wolf.

He growls and snarls, can feel Isaac's desperate hands holding him back as the Primeval howls his laughter and victory. Distantly, he can smell blood and Peter grabbing his face, screaming, "Fight him! Don't let him win! Your pack still needs you!" Derek doesn't have a choice. The Primeval is infecting him, pulling on him through Scott. He snaps at Peter, gnashes his teeth, trying to communicate that Peter needs to cut his losses and run. Take the others and go.

A roar of pain breaks the torrent pulsing at Derek and it's like a spell breaks. He can smell Red's blood, hear her crying and refusal to let go, her shrill screams at Jackson to leave her alone and do what she says or to help Stiles. She's holding Scott's shifting and reshifting body in her arms, his claws and blood making her bloody wet. He shifts his attention to Stiles who has blood coming from his nose and eyes, veins black-blue and body shaking. He's breathing harshly, but his heart is calm and strong. The Primeval is staring at Stiles and Red with a heavy gaze, a band of sigils burned across his chest.

It's then Derek understands this test was for Lydia and Stiles. How far would they go to help the pack. How loyal they were. Derek roars as Jackson goes to Stiles' aid. "Enough!" Isaac helps keep Derek standing and Peter echoes Derek sentiments. "We're pack. Bound and protected by blood, bite and magic. We are. He's ours. We hold him."

The Primeval circles them and Derek prepares for another body battering fight, readies himself to lose his life. Then the Primeval steps back and away, taking the red glow of Scott's eyes with him, leaving them blue. Slowly Derek can feel his mind become his own again. His instincts giving way to his aching body and tired mind. His thoughts begin to take on human flavors again, rational and he begins thinking of what to do next. Have Red injuries seen to, ground Stiles, inspect the boys for injuries, speak to Peter about the hunt.

An alpha's work is never over, he thinks again.

Peter cleans Red’s injuries with the first aid kit she had the forethought to bring. Isaac and Scott were leeching her pain away, leaving the girl dazed and drugged. The deep lashes would scar, but Scott hadn't been trying to kill her. She'd live even if she felt light headed. He'd have to remember to suggest Jackson take her to the hospital in case she needed a blood transfusion. Mountain lions would continue to make a credible attacker.

Jackson was with Stiles, sending Red longing glances. Taking Stiles from Jackson, Derek grunted, "Go."

And Jackson hurries to her, Scott pulling away guiltily. The guilt would last for awhile, Derek knows, but it wouldn't forever. Peter's Red knew what she was doing. She wouldn't accept Scott diminishing her actions with his guilt. Scott comes to Derek and Stiles, surprising Derek when he winds Derek’s arm around his neck and an arm around Derek's waist instead of attending Stiles. "You can barely stand." He mutters.

Derek nods and pushes Stiles to his knees again, Scott moving with him so he can arrange Stiles properly. Quietly, Derek explains what he's doing so Scott can do it in the future. Like before, the magic goes dormant and Stiles' real heart reappears and thumps its beats on top of each other. Scott overextends himself and they both go tumbling into Stiles.

Tried and achy, Derek simply pulls Stiles close, Scott clambering across them to blanket them. Derek falls asleep. He wakes up periodically. Isaac joins them by their heads. Peter is next to Derek. Lydia and Jackson come back smelling faintly of the hospital and Ms. McCall and curl under their feet. They sleep in a place touched by death and fire, blood and magic, loyalty and temptation and become anew.

 

**Red Velvet**

The Primeval and his Ferals left their mark.   
  
Red wore her silver-white scars proudly. Her silly little classmates pointed at them and called them many things like horrible and ugly. They didn't see the beauty of them like Derek and the pack did. She survived. She kept Scott sane and held him back, protecting the pack. After a year and a half, Derek finally understood why Stiles had been in love with the girl as he had been. They had similar souls.  
  
Stiles also bore his marks with pride and sheepishness. He told everyone they were tattoos, the little sigils marking protecting and sacrifice. His bond with the grimoire was stronger and an unelected bond had developed between him and Derek and it. Derek could feel it in use. Could feel when the spell was going to kill Stiles and when Derek needed to pull Stiles back from the edge. It was a nice warning system with few drawbacks. The only time Derek had real problems was when Stiles overextended himself and the grimoire helped Stiles’ access Derek’s strength. When they mentioned it to Deaton, the man got white lipped and shook his head. Derek shrugs. It works and they’re alive. He doesn’t care about the dogma of the magical world. They fought off the Primeval from taking one of theirs. Derek dared the magical world to _try_ something. 

“My little dragga.” Peter calls Scott.

Derek had never seen Scott so settled into himself. So at peace with the world. Derek could almost see how the Bite was a curse if this was the man Scott almost lost because of it. The man Scott was finally settling into was a kind man with words like fair and honest carved into his bones. The type of man Derek would be more than happy to make his second, to let Peter call his dragga. The type of man that could hold onto a hunter’s love and onto to his brothers.

Isaac’s trophies from the Primeval and Ferals were his confidence and settled loyalties. There’s the darkness of heartbreak that creeps upon him when he remembers Erica and Boyd. Derek can see it better than he could smell it after having seen it in his reflection for years. It was a heartbreak that won't always haunt him. Peter was right when he said Isaac’s true brothers would never abandon him. And they hadn’t. They had stood side by side to face death and keep one of their own safe. Isaac knew now in ways Derek hadn’t been able to explain that the pack would never let harm come to own of their own. Not without a fight. That they made each other _safe_.

Red was the first to make a bid to save Jackson’s soul. She couldn’t keep it safe by herself. It was a task too large for anyone, but she and Jackson were no longer alone. They never would be. It’s a promise Derek will never have to voice because they both know. Jackson’s face buried in Red’s hair says he knows. His open eyes as he looks over his brothers as he holds on to his mate tell them all he’s grateful. But those are words and in a pack, words are rarely needed to express important things.

Maybe most of all, they left their mark on Derek.

A mark on a future he's been setting aside because something else always had to be done. He's had the rotting pieces of his soul burnt away. He was tested and he found there were some things he was tired of fighting. Derek was ready to give good things and to recieve them again. He would -- did -- do better this time.

There’s a kiss -- a moment –- Stiles and he have been working towards. Unwittingly. Unflinchingly. It’s staring down the barrel of a shotgun. Nerves and thrills racing through Derek’s body as he feels it stalking closer. As Stiles shuffles closer with darkly sweet eyes. It’s a kiss that means to be gentle but is about love and can’t help but turn into quick and encompassing. All consuming.

There’s a good word for it: _consuming_.

It’s two hands gripping his soul, eating him, devouring and promising between breathes that no one else will ever have this. There will never be such a thing as _alone_ anymore. It’s a mouth on his own, desperate to steal every last breathe and to house it in Stiles _'_ lungs like retribution. Too hot hands pulling and tightening, promising every second of every today and every tomorrow.

Derek reveres.

 


End file.
